From the Ashes
by Tyler743
Summary: It's been nearly five years since he had last stepped foot in Gotham, but Damian has not forgotten the events that pushed him out. Now living in London, England, he goes by the persona of Phoenix, and is still trying to track down his corrupt aunt who has seemed to have vanished all together. Sequel to Fire on Fire.


_Preface_

Walking alone late at night was never a good idea, especially in a big city, especially for a woman. But weekends were a time to unwind, a time to go out with your friends and have fun on the town; of course the consumption of alcohol was usually on the agenda, especially for spry university students. Of course, evenings never really end how people intend them too, and for one young woman who had separated from her friends to leave the party early, it couldn't have gone more horrible.

Her alcohol level's must have been high as she could not walk straight down the desolate street of London England, the straps of her heels coiled around one wrist. She was humming to herself an upbeat tune that sounded like it had been one she had heard from the club; perhaps she was doing it to comfort herself from the solitude around her, or perhaps she was just too corked to even realize she was doing it.

She was dressed in a tight, leather dress that showed far too much of her ebony skin than should have been appropriate for the October temperature, but she didn't seem to mind, and luckily she was at least wearing a denim jacket to at cover her arms.

Her curly hair that was cut into a large fro around her head quivered in the wind; perhaps it was because of the sound in her ears that she was unaware of the man coming up fast behind her, perhaps it was because she was drunk, or perhaps she was just obviously. Whatever the reason, it happened fast, almost too fast.

In one moment he had grabbed her arm and threw her to the side so that they were hidden in the shadows of an ally. Pressing her hard to the brick wall of the building, her head fell back hard against it, cracking loudly and for a moment she saw stars.

"What the fuck are you doing?" she tried to yell, confused panic rising in her voice, but her words were slurred together and the man plunged his hand under her dress, his fingers roughly pushing past her underwear and diving deep within her.

She screamed and began to hit at him, hard, her body trying with all its might to twist free from him. "STOP! GET OFF!"

With his other forearm, he rammed it into her collarbone, shoving her back to the wall again as hard as he could before pulling his fingers out of her and lifting them up to his mouth, sucking lightly on them.

"Already wet for me," he sneered lowly. She began to sob heavily as he leaned closer to her, his face hidden by a dark hood that cast his features in even more shadows than the ally already provided. "You one of those kinky types? Does this turn you on?"

"Please, don't do this..." She pleaded, all of the alcohol in her system seeming to disappear from the fear. Her body trembled beneath him as she continued to try and worm her way free, but she was weak and it was no use.

Smiling, he reached down and unzipped his dark jeans, pulling himself out quickly; he was already hard and ready to go. As he pushed her dress up to her hips and his length hit her high, she groaned and hawked back, spitting roughly into his face.

"Get the fuck off me!"

Quickly, he reached up and wiped his face with his hand. "You stupid slut!" his deep voice hissed and brought his arm back, punching her square in the face. Again, her head snapped back, this time hitting the brick so violently she fell forward slightly into him, her consciousness slipping.

Before he had time to further assault her however, a small, jagged blade came flying from the shadows of the ally, lodging itself deep within the man's shoulder. He let out a cry and immediately backed away from her, both of his arms reaching behind him to try and pull the weapon from his skin. The woman began to fall forward, but like a bolt of light a figure, clocked in a dark cape appeared in front of her, catching her body and gently resting her on the ground.

The man pulled the knife from his back and again screamed loudly, his eyes narrowing at the figure until it slowly turned around to face him, then his expression fell to full out horror. Although the figures face was hidden by the cape's hood, the cape parted open at the center of its body, allowing a bright red and gold armoured suit to be shine through. It was a man.

"It's you..." the assaulter mumbled, dropping the knife on the ground and quickly shoving himself back into his pants. As he pulled the zipper up, he took a step backwards. "I didn't think you were real..."

The cloaked figure said nothing and instead reached into his cape and unsheathed a long, pointed katana. The other man backed himself up to the opposite building, pressing himself hard into it as though the stone would swallow him if he did so.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled at him, his voice shaking slightly. "I'm sorry! Look I won't do it again! I swear it! She was basically asking for it anyway; look at how she's dressed!"

Without waiting another second, the figured sprung forward and sliced the katana swiftly at the man's lap. He screamed, dropping down to the ground, blood pooling around his groin.

"You're right," the voice that came from beneath the hood of the figure was deep, stoic. "You won't do it again."

He pressed his katana back into its sheath as the man sobbed erratically, fumbling to unzip his pants. Turning quickly on his heels he walked over to the young woman who was barely awake on the ground, small moans escaping from the back of her throat.

"My fucking cock!" He could hear the man cry from behind him. "You cut my fucking cock off..."

Ignoring him, the clocked man helped the girl into a sitting position, her dark eyes slowly batted open.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly, resting a hand on her shoulder. It took her a few minutes to register that he was talking to her before she nodded, but then upon hearing the sobs from her attacker she looked around him, panic filling her eyes. The clocked figure pushed her body back, motioning for her not to look.

"Ignore him, you're safe now, that's all that matters." He assured her. She looked at him, her eyes wide.

"You're him aren't you?" her voice was a whisper, filled with an emotion he could not identify. "The Phoenix?"

The Phoenix, a ruthless vigilante who had surfaced in London nearly five years prior out of, what seemed to be thin air; no one knew where he came from, no one knew why he had come, and no one knew who he was. He had saved enough people now however to gained some respect within the community, though his methods of protection were usually unethical, but never resulted in anyone dying.

A pause before he raised his head slightly, the bottom half of his face now slightly visible in the dim light; olive skin, a strong, defined jaw line, and just the bottom of a red mask. He didn't need to say anything for her to know the answer.

"Is there anywhere I can take you?" he asked after a moment, completely brushing aside her question.

She gave him her address, a small apartment not far from where they were, but he accompanied her there nonetheless, quickly calling the police before leaving the perpetrator alone in the ally.

"Thank you for saving me," she said when they arrived at her front door. Her speech was still slightly slurred, but he knew she meant it. "If you hadn't of come, he would have-"

"Be more careful from now on." He cut her off, turning on his heels away from her. "There are some sick people out there."

Before she had time to say anything more, he pulled a grapple from under his cloak and shot it upward to the building tops, and in a second he was gone into the shadows where he had come from. She stood there, her hazy eyes searching the darkness for movement, but there was none, he had completely disappeared.

The door to her apartment opened and two other women spilled outside, relief wafting off of them.

"Thank God, Ally, where the hell were you?" one of them said, throwing her arms around the dark skinned girl.

"You left the bar before us, we were worried sick!" the other said, joining the hug. She quickly pushed them away and turned her attack back to the sky above them. The other two curiously followed her gaze.

"You're never going to believe what happened..."

* * *

_You taught me the courage of the __**stars**__ before you left_

_How light carries on endlessly, even after __**death**__..._

** ~ saturn, sleeping at last**

* * *

It was a chilly morning in Brixton, London, and when the door to a small coffee shop opened, sounding the shopkeeper's bell, a burst of cool air swept in, causing the few people who were gathered inside to shiver.

The young man who walked through the doors was bundled up in a long gray overcoat that fell below his knees and a red scarf that was wrapped tightly around his neck and lower face, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his arms pressed tightly to his body as though it would keep him warm. His dark hair was buzzed on the sides to a medium buzz cut, but the top was slightly longer and flopped to one side of his forehead messily; perhaps from the wind.

Damian Wayne was his name, son of world renowned billionaire Bruce Wayne, though he had long since put that part of his life behind him. He went by Grayson now, the surname of his adoptive older brother and perhaps the only person he truly missed from his old home of Gotham City.

The barista, a young girl with almond shaped eyes and pixie black hair looked up at him and smiled, a soft blush gracing her cheeks.

As Damian approached she quickly turned around and picked up a brown paper bag that was sitting on the counter behind her. Just like clockwork every morning, he would come and order the same thing, she had learned this and began to prepare ahead of time.

"One black coffee and a poppy seed muffin with butter, for take away." She said softly, her eyes shifting away from him as he pulled the scarf from covering the bottom half of his face. He smiled slightly, his tired green eyes looking at first from the bag, to her face.

Plunging his hand into his pocket he pulled out change and began to place it on the counter, but she threw her hands out, shaking her head.

"No, please! It's on the house today."

Again his eyes looked up at her.

"Nonsense." His voice was gentle as he tried once again to put the money down, but she again shook her head.

"It's the least I can do for our most loyal customer. Just this once, please."

The young man eyed her for a moment but knew too well that she would not take no for an answer, so he put the change back into his pocket and reached for the paper bag.

"Well, you do make the best muffins in London." He said with a smile, causing the girls whole face to turn bright red. He nodded at her and turned towards the door. "Give my compliments to the chef."

"Thank yo... I mean, I will! See you tomorrow!"

Pulling his scarf up over his chin Damian went outside, the thick cold air hitting him. As quickly as he could he turned the corner, rushing through the slow moving cars of the street to the other side and up the steps up a narrow apartment building. Lifting his hand from his pocket and quickly typing in the code that would allow him in, the man leaned into the door and pushed it open, entering a small empty hallway. Jogging up another set of stairs inside, he reached the second floor and turned to the door that read 202.

Quickly he unlocked it and fled inside sighing deeply and kicking off his shoes. The apartment was small; the door opened into a living room/dining area with a small kitchen off to the side. On the far end of the living room portion were two doors, one leading to the bedroom and the other to the bath. The furniture was bare minimum; a small glass kitchen table, a dark sofa, TV and stand, and a desk that was scattered with books and papers. That was it, it was clear he was not a material man.

Placing the bag on the kitchen table, he opened it and dug out the muffin and the coffee, stuffing half of the sweet into his mouth before he walked over to the couch and plopped down on it, once again sighing.

Damian swallowed his bite of muffin and leaned his head on the back of the couch, staring up at the white ceiling above him. The room was silent save for the sound of cars whizzing past outside; the sound of solitude was making him even more tired that he already was.

Without moving his head, he lifted the coffee cup to his lips and sipped at it, the bitter liquid warming his throat and the inside of his chest.

He never used to be tired when he was younger; he could go forever on little to no sleep. Hell, he should have been able to go forever now; he was only twenty one years old, but his mind constantly felt exhausted and his body felt as though it was slowing down, maybe he was pushing himself too hard every night as Phoenix, maybe he was bored from doing nothing during the days, maybe he was lonely.

Scoffing at his own thoughts he took another sip of coffee, the muffin in his other hand rolling out of him palm and onto the seat of the couch. He paid it no mind; his apartment was in dire need of a good cleaning anyhow, a few loose crumbs wouldn't change anything.

Allowing his eyes to drift close, Damian's thoughts wondered far from his quiet living room, far from London even. He thought about the family that he left back in Gotham; his father, his dog, Alfred, Dick.

Dick had a child now, and though the brunette had no idea what gender it was, he knew that it had to be spoiled rotten. Dick Grayson was the kind of person to become wrapped around his offspring's finger; as much as he tried to act dominant it was clear that it would be Kor'i who would wear the pants in the family.

It bothered Damian slightly that he had never gotten the chance to see the little one, he would have liked to meet her or him at least once, but going back to Gotham was out of the question for the time being. Neferti, his mother's sister, his aunt and the woman who was trying to convince him to initiate a doomsday clock for the entire world was still running free, somewhere. He could not risk putting anyone in danger, and if he were to return to where the rest of his family were residing, he would be doing exactly that. Neferti was unstable, and she didn't care who she hurt in order to get what she wanted. Damian had learned that the hard way.

Brushing the muffin off of the couch and onto the floor, Damian set his coffee down and lay sideways across the couch, his dark hair falling off of his forehead. Thinking about Gotham always led to thinking about _her_, someone he both wished he could forget but at the same time was terrified to. Stephanie Brown.

He had met her five years prior when he had made the decision to leave the Titan's Tower and return to his father's mansion, only to find out that Bruce hadn't hesitated finding someone to fill in for the miniature caped crusader. Stephanie was the newbie's girlfriend, and although he couldn't stand her at first, the two ended up giving everything they had to one another, so much so that Damian had believed they would be together forever. But if fate existed...it had other plans, and during their last confrontation with Neferti, Stephanie had fallen.

The fear in her hazel eyes, the way her lips parted as though she wished to say something, the sound of the glass screaming as it shattered around her, allowing her to fall to her death; Damian could remember it all as though it had been yesterday. The memory haunted him, never once letting him forget the utter horror he had felt in that one moment, though the positive things that he had loved like her laugh and her voice were now a distant whisper, almost barely recognizable in his mind.

It was cruel that life worked in that way, Damian wished it didn't. But as much as he tried to forget and push the images from his mind, the reminder of her demise continuously loomed over him, rising in the form of horrible, vivid nightmares, the scene playing again and again, and each time he was just as useless as the last. Standing there, still as a statue, watching her fall when he could have tried something sooner. Perhaps that was why he had returned to the life of a crime fighter. If he was protecting the city all night, sleep was avoidable, and so were his ephialtes.

But with the lack of sleep came immense fatigue and Damian found himself falling into a daily pattern of on again off again hypnagogia; he was never really asleep but not quite awake either. In fact, the only time he did fully indulge in slumber was after he would drown himself in alcohol, which he made sure to keep a copious supply ready if need be.

When he drank before bed, his sleep would be so deep that he didn't have to worry about dreaming, he only had to worry about the next morning, and that wasn't a bother. Coffee usually helped.

Twisting around in his spot so that he was now laying on his side, Damian stared blankly at the room ahead of him, his mind finding it difficult to focus on much other than the small amount of furniture.

So far, coming here had been useless. He was no closer to finding Neferti than he had been five years ago, and really he was unsure of where to go from there. Every single tidbit of information he had managed to find, which hadn't been much, lead to nothing but solid dead ends. His hope was dwindling.

But he wouldn't give it up.

* * *

"Here you go love," a middle aged, pudgy bartender said as she placed the thick glass of scotch down in front of Damian. She winked at him as he picked it up, his green eyes shifting down to the amber liquid that sat below a layer of ice cubes. "Scotch on the rocks, just the way you like it."

The brunette nodded at her before she turned around and headed back over to a small sink, starting her work at polishing more glasses.

This was his normal go to place on his "night off"; he made sure to give himself a short break from being the Phoenix every Saturday night as to not wear himself down completely to the ground, and this bar was perfect. Unlike most of the other establishments in Brixton, this one wasn't crowded by university students or young bumpers trying to find a little party. This bar was quiet, held an older, more sophisticated crowd, played classical jazz instead of the latest pop sensations, and the dim lighting comforted Damian's weary mind. Yes it was the perfect place to go to unwind for a night and have a few drinks so that he could, hopefully, have a decent sleep upon arriving home. That was the idea anyhow.

Raising the glass to his lips, Damian tilted it back and allowed the earthy liquor to bite its way across his tongue and down his throat, the ice cubes clinking together at the movement. Pulling his lips back after a satisfying gulp, he slapped the glass down on the counter, coughing out one shuddery exhale as though the drink had been too much. He didn't necessarily liked scotch, but it did the trick in making him drunk, and it did give him the feeling of being refined.

Allowing the music to take him away from the present, Damian's focus fell away into oblivion causing him to stare blankly ahead at the coloured bottle of alcohol that sat on the bars shelves. In the background, he could hear the other customers chatting among themselves, talking about their week, local gossip, their jobs. It had been so long since he had genuinely sat down and spoke to another being like that, and although he didn't necessarily miss it, sometimes he did long for the communication. Perhaps we would invest in a pet, at least then he would have someone to talk to at home.

He took another drink, this time taking as much of the scotch as possible into his mouth, swallowing roughly. Out of his peripherals he saw someone sit beside him at the bar counter, their face covered by a hood. He didn't like people sitting so close to him, it made him anxious.

Placing the glass back down, he shifted in his seat, his green eyes watching as the man held up two fingers, beckoning the bartender over. She quickly came.

"What can I get you, handsome?" her accent was strong and harsh against the classical piano that was playing. The man said something quietly, so quietly that Damian could not hear him, but the bartender seemed to as she waddled to the bottles and began mixing a drink. The hooded man reached forward to a small tin that held numerous toothpicks and picked one out with his rough, calloused hands, plopping it into his mouth which was still hidden from sight. A moment later the woman reappeared and placed a colourful cocktail down in front of him, in which he nodded and took it in both hands but did not move it from the counter. The toothpick flicked from side to side, he must have been moving it in his mouth; Damian got a weird vibe. God, London was full of weirdos, and that was coming from someone who had lived in Gotham.

Throwing the rest of his drink back, the brunette quickly finished it off, wiping the small amount of water that the melting ice cubes had left on his upper lip. He was bitter that he was being compelled to leave after only one drink, but he supposed he did have alcohol waiting for him back at his apartment and could hold off until then, though the small crowd of the bar gave him the slight pleasure of not being completely alone.

Quickly placing his cash on the counter, he stood from his stool and took a few steps towards the door, buttoning his overcoat as he went. A low, familiar voice dragged him to a stop however and his whole body tensed.

"Leaving without even saying hi. That's_ rude_."

Turning slowly in his spot, Damian started at the hooded man who was still hunched over his drink. His heart began to beat fast, his palms grew sweaty. He knew that voice anywhere, though he hadn't heard it in years.

His feet moved on their own, taking him back to his own stool and he sat down, leaning one forearm on the bars counter, staring wide eyed at the figure who was still playing with the toothpick. They both sat there for a moment in silence, each of them waiting for the other to say something before the man finally pivoted his body towards the brunette, his hands reaching up to throw back his hood.

Jet black hair that was jelled off of his forehead, piercing blue eyes and lips were pulled into a smirk that caused Damian's chest to fill with both shock and relief. It was a strange feeling to see Jason Todd again after all of this time. It had been almost five years, and even though he was never extremely close to his second oldest brother, seeing his face brought him a strange sense of home. Like Damian however, time and crime fighting had taken its toll on the older batboy, and though he still looked fairly young for a thirty one year old, he had defined wrinkles underneath his eyes.

Jason pursed his lips to the side, taking the toothpick out from between his lips and replacing it with the straw of his drink, sucking it back quickly.

"What in the hell are you doing here, Todd?" Damian gasped, still in utter disbelief. No one had been aware of where he was going five years ago, no one. He hadn't told anyone, he hadn't dropped any hints or contacted anyone since. He had just up and left. How in the name of God, did Jason out of anyone manage to find him, and why? He wasn't angry, just confused.

Jason chuckled and popped the straw from between his lips, placing his glass down and tilting his head to the side.

"Didn't you know?" he asked nonchalantly. "This joints 'Sex on the Beach' is world famous! I just had to come and try one for myself."

"_How did you find me_?" Damian shot, ignoring his irritating game. He had been in his presence for all of one minute and he was already wearing thin.

"You think Bruce is the only one with fancy toys and tricks up his sleeve, Baby-bat? I have ways of knowing things, especially how to find people. That's all you need to know."

"Does father know I'm here?"

Jason snorted out a laugh. "Hell if I know. I've been officially cast out of the family. Thrown from the nest; I haven't talked to Bruce in...shit, months."

"Is that why you decided to fly all the way here to find me?" Damian asked, raising an eyebrow and causing Jason to shrug his shoulders.

"Nah, Gotham was just getting old. I needed something new in my life and I figured, hey, why not reconnect with my favorite little psycho." He smiled. "How have you been Damian? You look...well, you look like you're...existing."

The corner of Damian's lip pulled up into a half smirk. "You could call it that I guess." He agreed quietly. "I've been fine. Tired, but fine."

Jason plucked the straw from his drink and instead threw back the entirety of it, drinking it all down in two large gulps. He pulled away with satisfying smack of his lips and put the glass down with a loud clink.

"What have you been up to other than coming to this snooze fest? Throwing the wads of cash that I'm sure Bruce still puts into your account around? Got a nice house? Nice car? Sexy as fuck lady friends? Spill it kid, what's the dealio?"

Swallowing Damian shook his head, his eyes shifting down. "This is it." He lied. He didn't know why he couldn't bring himself to tell Jason about Phoenix, if he was planning on staying he would find out pretty quickly; Damian sincerely hoped he wasn't planning on staying though. "I come here once a week. I live in a one bedroom flat about a block away. No car, no lady friends. Though, you're right about one thing, father does still put money into my account."

Jason made a face and crossed his arms over his chest. "I really shouldn't be surprised, you were always a dud."

Damian shrugged. His life really wasn't exciting, he had no argument there.

"How is everyone back home?" he asked after a few seconds, deciding to change the subject. Jason gave him another look.

"What part of cast out don't _you_ understand?" he said with a chuckle, but then shook his head. "I still talk to Dickie a little bit, but only to see how his little monster is doing. She's pretty goddamn cute, hell of a temper though. Gonna be trouble when she's a teenager, I'll tell you that."

"So they had a girl?" Damian smiled at the thought. A little girl, perhaps with flaming red hair and bright blue eyes; he'd bet anything that she was adorable.

Jason smiled as well. "Yeah, but don't tell him I told you that, he'd kill me to know I cracked that open for you. Act surprised if you ever see her."

"I doubt that will happen anytime soon. I have no interest in returning to Gotham."

"Probably the best call, looks like you're already living the life here. Why leave?" The sarcasm that dripped from Jason's tongue made Damian scowl and he looked away. Jason noticed the change in his demeanor right away. "I kid, baby-bat. I kid."

Tilting his glass and looking into it, the other man's lips pulled back into a frown upon seeing that it was empty.

"I've run dry, and I don't really want to spend any more money at this joint. You pick the most expensive pub in the country to drown your sorrows, and unfortunately Bruce isn't filling my wallet." He said while taking a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one. Damian looked at him as he put it into his mouth and took a long drag, exhaling the smoke into the room around him.

"I wonder why." The younger party said dryly, but a small smile tugged at his mouth. Jason smirked and wiped his mouth with his hand before holding the cigarette out to the brunette. He looked at it for a moment before hesitantly accepting it.

He had never smoked before; he had never felt the need to. But with all of the stress in his life currently what could it hurt? Besides, he didn't care enough about his own life to worry about the consequences.

Putting the filtered end between his lips, Damian sucked inward, but immediately pulled it away from his mouth, turning his face into his elbow and falling into a coughing fit. Jason laughed and took the smoke back, taking another puff.

"That's vile..."Damian said between coughs, narrowing his eyes at the cigarette between Jason's teeth. Jason laughed again.

"This is what's kept me sane all these years. You get used to it."

"No thank you."

"Suit yourself."

The two fell silent for a moment and looked out into the room around them. More people had gathered since Damian had first come, and that hadn't been long ago, but they were still all much older than the two former Robin's. Damian didn't mind this of course, it meant that he didn't have to worry about someone trying to coerce him into conversation, he had gone to other establishments before with younger crowds and he always found himself fighting off intoxicated, lustful young women and sometimes men. Not exactly something he wished to be doing on his nights off. But of course, Jason was a very different person. Too different.

"What do you say we get out of here and go find ourselves some lonely, beautiful damsels in need of two suave, wealthy gentlemen?" he purred, jumping to his feet and zipping up his black flight jacket.

Damian stood as well and gave him a look. "I thought you didn't have any money. Now you're a rich gentleman?"

"_You_ are!" Jason chimed, poking him in the chest before pulling out his wallet and taking out the money for his drink. "And if one of us is, we both are! Now let's go find somewhere more happening, the only thing you're gonna pick up in here is a lung infection from breathing in the dust these walking fossils are admitting."

Damian rolled his eyes and began to walk towards the door; he could hear Jason right behind him.

"I'm not really in the mood to mingle tonight...or any night for that matter. I'm going home."

Feeling a hand clamp over his shoulder and pull him slightly, the brunette looked over his shoulder at the pouting thirty year old behind him, noticing for the first time that they now stood at eye level with one another.

"You're breaking my heart," Jason wined as Damian nudged roughly out of his grip and pulled the door open, stepping out into the cold outdoors. It was snowing lightly, but just enough to cause the kind of bitter chill that flew right through you, freezing your bones. "I came all this way to have a good time with you, and all you want to do is go to your apartment. You won't even have one drink with your big brother?"

"If it's alcohol you want, I have plenty at my apartment. And don't worry...I don't charge much."

* * *

If Damian had known that all it would take to stop Jason Todd to stop sputtering nonsense for more than five minutes was to offer his booze, he would have done it a long time ago.

He had brought him back to his apartment, and of course at first the older man couldn't stop talking about how "billionaire Damian Wayne" had now stooped to living in what he described as "squalor". It was hardly that however, and if he thought it was he obviously had not seen Stephanie Brown's apartment in Gotham. But once he had poured him a glass of wine, which turned into two, which of course quickly became three, their conversation mellowed and became, probably the first satisfactory conversation the two had ever had with one another.

They exchanged stories of the last five years, Damian finally told him about his night time alter ego, Phoenix and how he was still trying to find Neferti. They talked about Bruce, and Tim and Dick, but never once did they bring up Stephanie or the events at the museum. Damian was unsure if Jason felt awkward to bring it up or just didn't care.

Upon his fourth glass of wine, Jason stood up from his seat at the small kitchen table, wobbling slightly as he staggered over to the small desk in Damian's living room, looking down at the papers there. The green eyed man watched him through clouded vision, sipping at his glass.

"This all you found?" he questioned, squinting his eyes as he tried to read one of the sheets. It was all information on the Krv Amyh-Pa, on Farafra and Egyptian folklore. Damian nodded even though his predecessor was not looking at him.

"Yeah. I've been to achieves, libraries, searched online. There's very little on the Krv Amyh-Pa that I can find."

"Hm," Jason pursed his lips and fell to the side a bit, catching himself on the desk. "Maybe she's dead. I mean, think about it." He turned slowly to face the younger man, but remained there in his spot, palm pressed to the wood for support. "It's been five years, and you haven't heard boo. You might be wasting your time, mini me."

Ignoring the horribly incorrect nickname, Damian tipped his wine glass back all of the way and finished it off before once again shaking his head, a slight bit of his fringe falling onto his forehead.

"She's alive." He assured him in a low, slowly drawn voice. "I can feel it."

Jason snorted. "Oh you can feel it." He nodded his head, his tone sounding as though he were going to continue but he didn't, instead he started towards Damain's bedroom, disappearing behind the door. Damian's dark eyebrows rose high on his forehead.

"Todd!" he called after him. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I just want to see your new fancy uniform! It's in your closet right?"

"I don't know where else it would be."

He listen to Jason bumbling around in his bedroom, knocking things over, opening the closet door a little too aggressively, rummaging through the hangers. For a moment he considered going in to help him so that he wouldn't hurt himself, but before he could get up Jason appeared at the door with a wicked smile spread across his lips. Damian's heart dropped at the garment he held up with his hand.

"So, you didn't bring your Robin suit...but you brought this thing?" Jason chuckled, waving the black and purple spandex suit, high above his head. It was clearly a woman's uniform, equipped with a poorly sewn, golden bat across the breast area. "Something you aren't telling me?"

Damian jumped to his feet and rushed over to Jason, tripping over himself slightly as he grabbed it from his hand and yanked it away angrily.

"Give me that!" he barked. Jason pulled his hand away and frowned.

"Jesus, aggressive." He mumbled, watching Damian walk to the other side of the room, clutching the uniform in his arms. "I'm not one to judge anyone for anything...but I never pegged you as the cross dressing type."

The room fell silent and after a moment Jason's smirk faltered. Damian swallowed and in the tiniest of voices he spoke.

"It was Stephanie's..."

"Oh..."

The apartment suddenly became thick with uneasiness. It was clear that the sudden sight of the uniform had caused Damian to become upset, Jason almost felt bad for prodding him about it.

"Er..."Jason's intoxicated mind tried its best to think of something to say. "I didn't know Bruce had initiated her into the Bat club." That was the best he had.

Damian shook his head. "He didn't. She...made it herself." He corrected, his voice still quiet. Jason laughed slightly, but it did not come from humour. Instead, it came from a low, sympathetic place.

"Should have known I guess. Only Stephanie Brown would be capable of making something so-"

"Homely." Damian finished his sentence, and despite his voice remaining stoic, it was clear that the jab had come from somewhere light. Again Jason laughed.

"You said it. Not me."

A breathy scoff came out from the back of Damian's throat, and he walked over to the couch, sitting down on it and folding Stephanie's uniform in half on his lap. He looked down at it.

"Yeah well...it doesn't matter who said it does it? It's not like it can offend her. _She's dead_."

Jason said nothing. He suddenly felt much more sober than he had a moment ago, probably due to the seriousness of the situation.

"I don't even know why I brought it. It's just garbage." Damian continued, more to himself than to anyone else. It was true; out of anything he could have brought from the Wayne manor all those years ago, why had he brought this? Why had he not been able to bring himself to leave that morning without packing something of Stephanie's? And why this, of all things? "I guess I just wanted something...of hers..."

"Well...there goes the mood..." Jason sighed deeply and stumbled his way over to the couch, plopping down roughly beside his younger counterpart. He looked at Damian and nudged him with his elbow, smiling ever so slightly. "The nights young! Let's get out of here and go have some fun."

The brunettes green orbs shifted towards him, narrowing ever so slightly. "I told you earlier I don't want to go out. Why do you think now, of all times, I would change my mind?"

"It's not about if you want to or not. You should."

"And why is that?" Damian asked, his top lip curling slightly. Jason shrugged.

"Because, you just went all Shakespeare on me. We need to brighten things up a bit. Look, we're already drunk, let's go find some party, paint the town, get your mind off all of this."

Damian said nothing and looked away. If he didn't have interest in going out earlier, he had even less now. His vision was hazy, and his mind couldn't focus, and he was feeling depressed.

His thumb brushed the fabric of the uniform on his lap, and his heart pinged with ache, he was very depressed. So much so, that he didn't even really want to be talking to Jason anymore; all he wanted to do was go to bed.

After a few minutes Jason sighed and crossed his legs, the heel of his foot kicking Damian's leg accidentally, causing him to look at him, irritation pooling in his droopy eyes. Jason leaned his head to the side, his deep eyes drunkenly gazing at the younger being.

"How longs it been since you've been laid?" he asked, his face serious. Damian stared blankly at him for a moment, his mind unable to process the question.

"Excuse me?"

"_Sex_." Jason blurted, his hands involuntarily motioning at his own groin. "When's the last time you dipped your wick?"

Immediately Damian's face flushed bright red and he looked away.

"Could you be anymore crass..." he hissed. Jason leaned away from the back of the couch, uncrossing his legs.

"Serious question! Please don't tell me it was Stephanie..."

In a moment, the young Wayne was pulled back in time, five years ago. Despite the shortness of their relationship, he and Stephanie had been very intimate, and it was special. The touch of her body against his, her smell, her taste, her sounds; he could remember everything and God...he missed it. About a year after he had moved to London he had decided to give in to his aching need for human connection again, and found himself in bed with different women almost every week. It had done absolutely nothing for him however, and instead had made him even lonelier than he already was. Soon it became an occasional thing, to lie with the odd persistent bar goer, and eventually dwindled to nothing. It had been years since he had had sex; did he miss it? Of course, who wouldn't? Did he want to have it? Not necessarily. No one felt right to him, and he doubt they ever would.

When Damian said nothing Jason groaned. "Fuck...it was..."

"I've...been with other women."

Slapping his hand over his heart, the blue eyed man nodded. "You scared the shit out of me! That's good, that normal. So when was the last time?"

Damian swallowed roughly, almost afraid to give him an answer. "Two...years ago."

Jason choked, on what, Damian had no idea. "Alright, take back what I just said. What is wrong with you? Two years!?" he was shouting now. Unfortunately the walls in the apartment were thin; the neighbours probably had so many questions at this point. "What are you celibate? Did you join some weird...English cult?"

Shushing him, Damian spoke quietly. "I just haven't had the desire. It's not the same."

Jason stood too quickly and fell slightly, tripping over his own feet before catching himself and standing straight, looking down at the boy. "Damian...listen."

Things that started with listen were never good. Ever.

"You need to let Stephanie go, okay? I know you loved her in your own weird little way...but it's been five years! You're what, twenty one? Twenty two? You are in the prime of your youth and you're wasting your life away, alone in this shitty apartment or your dingy little senior center. Put that thing away and get up! We're going out!"

He had no idea what possessed him to listen to the older ex-Robin, but Damian sighed and stood up.

"And where exactly are we going?"

Jason smiled.


End file.
